


Double Strong

by KJGooding



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Department of Temporal Investigations, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Holodecks/Holosuites, Just Married, Miscommunication, Trills, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 17:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20604296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KJGooding/pseuds/KJGooding
Summary: Shortly after their wedding, Julian and Ezri begin noticing malfunctions in their replicator at home.  Julian is always one for an investigation, especially when he sees his own digital signature at the bottom of each replicator program they run.  But did the change come from his future, or from his past?





	Double Strong

In their cabin and under their covers, Julian was feeling unusually lethargic. He was partially awake, grasping at the fleeting edges of a dream until it disappeared, leaving him disappointed and alone. Turning over and finding the space next to him empty, he sulked and made his way to the bathroom. 

Ezri had been awake almost an hour already, and was standing with her forehead pressed to the replicator, waiting for the _ precise _ moment Julian got out of bed before ordering them a pot of tea to share. Eventually, the intended moment came, then it passed, and Ezri remained where she was, even while Julian dashed off to their bathroom to get dressed. Usually, Julian was awake earlier - by necessity of his shifts in the Infirmary, compared to Ezri's more open appointment schedule - and _ he _ was the one to have breakfast waiting for _ her_. 

But Ezri found herself mumbling 'raktajino, double-strong' to the computer instead, and then immediately rolling her eyes when the tall carafe of it arrived in the replication bay. 

"Morning," Julian called as the bathroom door slid open, blotting his chin with a wetted towel. Then he ran it over his hair, and then over both hands, and called this the whole of his workday routine. 

"Morning," Ezri said back. 

“Oh, you _ are _ here. I’m glad,” he said. “I thought you must’ve gone…”

“No, I’m free most of the morning. I was just ordering breakfast.”

Julian discarded the towel into the laundry chute and made his way into the common room behind Ezri, wrapping his arms around her middle and placing a timid kiss on her shoulder. For some reason, being newly-married had made him nervous about their arrangement all over again, as if he was just meeting _ Jadzia _in the docking ring for the first time. But he tried to keep thoughts like that out of mind. 

"Hmm, coffee?" he asked, managing to sound satisfied even through the purposeful upturn of his voice at the end. Being with Ezri made him far more mindful of the way he spoke - not the words, but the _ way _\- and he found himself enjoying his progress very much. 

"Thought so..." Ezri said, pouring from the carafe while he continued embracing her, making the task rather difficult. 

When he stepped back and gave her the space she required, she poured them each a full cup from the carafe, and brought them to rest on the dining table. 

"You aren’t _ required _ to drink it with me," Julian said, still a bit confused by Ezri's unusual answer. "What happened to Tellarite _ matcha_, anyway?"

"You asked for coffee," Ezri said, with more conviction than before. 

"When? Last night?"

"Well..."

"I remember having a glass after work," he went on. "But I swore I ordered it myself. Is that what you're thinking of?"

Ezri blinked, paused a moment, and then shook her head. 

"No, this morning _ you _ asked _ me_."

Julian grimaced, still unsure. 

"Was I asleep?" he asked. "I do... talk in my sleep sometimes, don't I?"

"Not about _ coffee_," Ezri said. "I'm sorry, I must've... I think I misheard you, when you had the sink on in the bathroom."

In a halfhearted showing of agreement, Julian shrugged and sat down in his usual chair. That was long enough to discuss his morning beverage choice, but there was still the matter of Ezri's. 

"We were making good progress, I thought," he said, in reference to the gift Garak had given them for their wedding - an interplanetary treasure map of obscure teas. The tea samples were all hand-collected and tucked into pockets on the map; all one needed to do get from the replicator was water of a precise temperature, different for each blend. While Julian was reluctant to _ say _any of this, in case Ezri might take it offensively, his face somehow managed to convey the same verbiage. 

"It _ is _easy, I know," Ezri said. "That's... not why I didn't do it."

Julian kept quiet, and wished he had a tray of scones to keep himself occupied. So, he got up, returned to the replicator, and ordered one. 

"You _ did _ask me to," Ezri was able to insist, once his back was turned. "Not last night, this morning. You said you needed it to reset."

"Did I," Julian mumbled, "in those words exactly?"

Intrigued, he clawed his scone from the plate, in a rush to return to the table. He set it down by itself on the table-top, not even reaching for a napkin, eyes focused intently on Ezri. 

"That's unusual for me to say, isn't it?"

Ezri squinted. 

"I don't know," she said. "I'm sure it's a phrase you've used before, at _ some _ point in your life. And you _ did _just finish working nine straight gamma shifts..."

But then she picked up her raktajino and sipped from it without so much as wincing, much less shutting her eyes and spitting it out, like she almost always did. Julian liked his _ strong - _something he learned from Jadzia and had yet to force back onto Ezri. It was a strange cycle, the more he thought about it, but of course he tried not to think about it at all. 

"Cycle..." he said to himself.

"Is something wrong?" Ezri asked.

Julian sipped the coffee in question, the root of the entire mystery, and smacked his tongue twice against his lips as he focused on tasting it; it did not seem quite right. And Ezri did not find this to be a satisfactory answer. 

"Jul--" she began. 

"What did you order, exactly?" he asked, already on his way back to the replicator to check the history. 

"Double-strong raktajino. _ Is something wrong_?"

"Yes," he said. "_You _shouldn't like it."

Ezri shrugged and said it was growing on her.

"No, no it isn't," Julian insisted, reducing the replicator history to lines of complicated coding, looking through each ingredient. "This is about two-thirds Tarkalian syrup, anyway, by the looks of it..."

"Should I put in a call for a technician?" she asked, in an equally sweet voice. 

Julian was almost ready to thank her, but then he saw his own authentication code at the end of the replicator recipe. It looked like he had made the modification himself. And if he had told Ezri precisely which recipe to order, before he was even awake...

"No, I think _ I _ need to make some calls," he said. "To, um... Temporal Investigations. From what I'm reading now, it looks like I'm starring in my _ own _conspiracy."

"I'm going to mandate - as your counselor - _ less _recreational time in the holosuites," she said, holding up one hand in warning.

"I love you too," he said, and he went off to the bedroom to make his calls, anyway.

***

Julian came home from his meeting, agitated and impatient, rapping his fingers repeatedly on the armrest as soon as he sat down on his side of the sofa. Despite it being late evening, Ezri’s day of work had not yet begun - she was due for a routine appointment with a Bajoran patient who worked the arduous delta shift. She was a little over half awake by the time Julian came in, and she milled around the kitchen rearranging the contents of their limited cabinet-space. With each sentimental but otherwise useless article she picked up and rehomed, she tried to recall exactly how it felt, being a newlywed. Surely it was more than giving her canteen from _ The Destiny _ a home beside Julian’s model of the _ arc de triomphe_. Or maybe that _ was _all of it - finding acceptance and building a little world of their own. 

“--without even _ looking _in his records,” Julian was saying, animating his words with both frustrated hands. “Can you believe that?”

Ezri suppressed a yawn, and hid her face behind the cupboard for a moment. 

“Yeah,” she said, supportively. “What’s your next step?”

He leaned back in his seat, generally unaware of when he was _ not _being listened to. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “But can you _ believe _ that? He wouldn’t even look at his records. How am I supposed to know whether I’ve already asked, if he won’t _ tell me_? I don’t want to go to Section 31 with this, but if I have to-- just because he won’t--”

“_He_, as in Agent Dulmur?” Ezri asked. 

“Yes.”

“Section 31?”

“Maybe.”

“_Why_? Because Dulmur doesn’t think _ you _ came here from the future to make yourself a stronger cup of coffee? Julian, you’re being _ ridiculous_.”

“I don’t think I am! Neither of _ us _can explain it--”

“Exactly! Because there’s nothing to explain. I misheard you. Between the sink and your razor running, I thought you said ‘raktajino.’ It’s really not a big deal.”

“You have to say that. We’re married.”

“No, I don’t. That’s not why I’m saying it.”

He sighed and stayed by himself on the sofa, while Ezri returned to her diligent arranging and rearranging of their belongings. Ordinarily, Julian liked to watch and lovingly question her choices, getting her to open up about some past host or another. But since he was upset, this evening, she set down the contents of her current cabinet project on the counter, so he could see them, and verify for himself that she was not drastically altering his prized routine. It became more for encouraging him to reminisce than cleaning the place up. Neither of them were overly _ messy _, just busy.

“All I’m saying is…” Ezri began, casually, “someone _ else _ could have put that signal there for you. Assuming it could only be _ you _ is closing off a lot of doors; I can understand why Dulmur might find that frustrating. He deals with cases like this all the time, I bet.”

Julian laughed, flatly, and only once.

“Right,” he said.

“I think you would get further in pursuing this if you were open to more possibilities. That’s all. If it were me, I would work on--”

“What if it _ were_,” Julian said suddenly. “You, I mean. I can put in a request for files, he can’t deny _ that_. Files on… yes, on Trill involved in time discrepancy. It can’t be that uncommon, but I don’t imagine it’s been studied in any detail...”

Ezri came out of the kitchen, now, to get a good look at Julian’s face. He was content to ramble with his eyes downcast and his hands folded, and she had to interrupt before he got any more absorbed in his setting, beyond his own control this time.

“What? Are you saying _ I _have some effect on Dax’s past hosts?”

“No… no of course not…” Julian said. “But you do have an impact on its future hosts.”

“In the same way any other Joined Trill ever has on their symbionts,” Ezri recited, hoping to have a calming effect. Really, she thought Julian was being absurd.

“But it’s never been studied. How can it be?”

_ It’s just a cup of coffee_, Ezri thought to herself but wisely - _ because they were married _\- abstained from saying.

“I’ll ask for clearance to go forward and study it,” Julian concluded. “Perhaps you changed the order intentionally, but without realizing, because of something one of your future hosts needed to happen. They needed me to recognize this, for some reason, and make an effort to correct… something…”

“I think I follow.”

Inspired, he stood up and met her where she was, partway between the kitchen and the common room, the heels of her boots creaking on the linoleum while her toes touched the thin carpet. He held her shoulders and waited a moment, ensuring his presence was not entirely unwelcome, before leaning in to kiss her. 

“Thank you. I’ll try that,” he said.

He was fully prepared to turn around and walk right back to the conference room to record a message for Agent Dulmur, but he realized he, too, was part of this whole _ marriage _business. He pressed his hand to the front door sensor and kept it there, while he turned to look at Ezri again over his shoulder. 

“I do appreciate it. Have a good appointment, darling. I’ll see you for breakfast.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “No coffee, this time.”

***

Ezri had decided to forego sleep entirely, following her appointment. At no fault of the patient’s, it had run long - Ezri was interrupted by two crisis intervention calls - and by the time she finally got home, she was too wrapped up in the adrenaline of her work to even consider getting into bed. As her evening thus far had centered around compromises, she found herself a set of soft pajamas to wear, and that was the extent of her relaxation. She was looking forward to seeing Julian again. Surely _ that _ was the defining highlight of a marriage, she thought with satisfaction, as she began to set the table for the breakfast they had agreed to. It would be nice and relaxing; as a rule, she did not discuss identifying details of her patients with Julian, unless they _ also _required medical attention. He sometimes said the station was smaller than it seemed, meaning word would get around anyway, but Ezri was still adjusting to her surroundings, clinging to formality as long as she could. It didn’t mean Julian disregarded his patients’ privacy, it meant he was often their friend as well as their physician, and glossing over a routine appointment here and there in conversation with his wife was not truly offensive.

She thought about this as she finished setting the table and moved to the replicator for the next phase of her preparation. But her foot did not move as she intended it to. Rather than stepping forward, she found herself stumbling backward and taking refuge in her chair. She felt strange and dizzy, and was hit with the premonition that the replicator would not be able to help her. 

Ezri asked it for a dose of one of the medications Julian had prescribed her - it required only his one-time signature to be dispensed from any replicator at any time Ezri felt it necessary, because she relied on it to soothe her bouts of space sickness. It was not addictive or dangerous, and required no controlled substances from the replicator. But the machine refused nonetheless, just as she feared it would. 

The replication bay produced a bowl of soup while Ezri scowled across the table. 

“Okay, what if I _ want _a bowl of plomeek soup with basil, or whatever it is Julian eats,” she tried to reason with it, but the computer was only interested in reverse psychology in the same way she was, as a means to another end.

It prepared a new tray with a sandwich, a bowl of Andorian fruits, and a glass of milk. Ezri rolled her eyes and then shut them, because the motion only made her feel worse.

She tapped her communicator and asked for Julian to come home, right away. 

Even in her altered and exhausted state, it was obvious how much Julian enjoyed being called away to tasks like this one. Not because he liked to see anyone in pain, but because he _ loved _to find himself useful, welcome to be overbearing and insistent until the problem was solved. 

He offered a thin smile when he first saw her, then he immediately crouched at her side and asked what was wrong, despite scanning her at the same time to find out for himself. 

“I was trying to order my medicine,” Ezri shrugged hopelessly at the replication bay. Julian followed with his eyes, then made a dismissive sound with his tongue. 

“Well, it’s good it chose something very _ obviously _not promethazine-based,” he said. “I mean, you could’ve taken a completely different compound without realizing… this is a simple fix, don’t worry.”

He made a suitable replacement from his selection of hypospray ingredients, and administered it against her arm. Then he stood and patted the spot carefully, as if the injection had been painful, the product of the needles of antiquity. The whole ordeal was over in a minute, as easily as Julian promised. 

“Now…” he said softly, as he took the seat across from her. “I’ll call Quark for breakfast, since this thing still isn’t behaving itself.”

He tipped his head back at the replicator, but then returned his full attention to Ezri. 

“I can call a tech,” Ezri offered. “I didn’t get a chance to tonight, but I was gonna do--”

“Don’t worry about it. In fact, I’d rather leave it as is until I get to the bottom of the coding issue.”

“Right,” Ezri said, holding her head in both hands, feeling the room stabilize around her as the medication took effect. “I hope I didn’t catch you in the middle of your meeting.”

“No, no. I was at the Infirmary, and to be honest I’d lost track of the time. I’m glad you called.”

“I kinda _ had _to.”

“Because I’m your husband…?” Julian said lightly.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. Because you’re the CMO,” she decided. 

“Lucky you,” he said, not quite bringing himself to wink.

“_And _you’re my husband.”

“Lucky me.”

While smiling brightly, he scooped up his padd and delivered on the next of his promises: ordering their food from the bar.

“Mm, ten minutes,” he said, setting the device aside when he was finished. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, I think so. I don’t know if I want to walk all the way to Quark’s, but I--”

He took delight in interrupting. 

“Oh no, it’s being delivered. He’ll do favors for… certain symbionts, when they’re in distress.”

She shook her head and laughed with him, breathy and _ happy_. When the joy of their little conspiracy subsided, they sat quietly and waited for it to come to fruition. The door eventually buzzed to signal their visitor, and Julian went to collect their trays from the waitress, thanking her profusely for making the trip. 

“What, no Quark?” Ezri was surprised. 

“I guess it _ was _purely a favor.”

Julian sat and began sorting through the order, ready for something to be incorrect or missing. But it all passed his inspection, and he put together Ezri’s meal for her, still indulging in caring for his patient. 

“So… how was your meeting…?” Ezri asked, watching Julian stir syrup into her oatmeal.

“Oh, complete dead end. Did you want the berries on the side, or mixed in?”

“Side. What happened, what did he say?”

“Well, he said I need to come back with actual research… in order to be granted access to any of his files… in order to _ do _ my research in the first place. He didn’t appreciate me saying time loops like _ that _ probably keep him from doing a lot of work he doesn’t want to do.”

“He asked you to leave,” Ezri surmised. 

“Yes.”

Julian passed her the bowl and readied the spoon for her - not going so far as to lift it to her mouth for her, but scooping it full of oatmeal and balancing it against the left side of her bowl for her to grab it most easily.

“What kind of research?” she asked, before taking a bite. 

“I told him I was planning to interview you on some of Dax’s past hosts and their experience with time travel, and that I wanted to understand when my replicator program was modified.”

“We can still do those things. You don’t need his approval to talk to me, or to open up your own household computer.”

“That’s… true.”

“Let’s do it. I’m gonna take that control panel off after breakfast.”

“You know, on first glance, I _ never _would’ve taken you for a bad influence.”

Ezri made a confused face around the spoon in her mouth. Gradually, she withdrew it as she thought, slamming it back into her bowl once she had the answer. 

“I’m a victim of peer pressure too,” she said. “You’re just hearing me, but I’m hearing _ all _of Dax’s hosts telling us to go for it.”

“That’s the interview done, then,” Julian smirked. 

“I mean, if you want an official statement,” Ezri continued, as she picked up one of the berries and turned it over in her fingers, “Trill guidelines for time travel are even more strict than the Federation’s are. Especially if you’re Joined. If there’s any chance of duplicating a symbiont, or having two symbionts meet who already knew each other in different hosts… it’s kind of a mess. But _ yeah_, Jadzia came close to breaking a few rules, Curzon definitely did, and then… wait, was it Emony or Audrid... she accidentally went--”

“Fortunately for us, we won’t be starting with actual time travel. I would need a dozen hours of paperwork to even think about getting intentional time distortion approved. No, we’re just going to take a look at the replicator program, and if _ I _didn’t put my own signature there at some future stardate, we can figure out who did. A holosuite can handle the rest.”

She returned to her meal, glancing up and grinning at Julian as soon as his eyes were downcast, then looking away before he did exactly the same, leaving both of them blind to the other’s affection.

***

Later that morning, when both of them were fed and free of other commitments, they went to Quark’s to push their luck for another favor. This one was based more on Julian’s consistency as a customer than on any fondness Quark felt for Dax - they needed a private holosuite before standard opening time. 

Julian paid the bill in advance, then led the way through the darkened corridor with everything he needed: his clearance card, the data-rod with copies of all modifications made to his cabin replicator, and his wife’s hand in his. 

“This shouldn’t take long,” Julian said, as he placed his hand on the door sensor. 

“I’m glad you didn’t tell Quark that.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t mind. I paid for six hours at the gamma-shift rate.”

Ezri drew back her head in disbelief. 

“Why did you-- never mind.”

Julian shrugged, and as the door to the suite slid open, he gestured for Ezri to go inside before following her. She studied the empty grid which surrounded them while Julian situated himself at the control panel, gradually incorporating new pieces to the program. 

“Computer,” he said, as if he was calling out to a friend, “show me the last time the coding on this data-rod was edited.”

The program obliged, pulling from the security overrides buried deep in the replicator’s history, as well as its own memory banks of the station’s other crew members. In a few seconds, it presented them with a holographic image of Miles in their home cabin, with his head and shoulders buried inside the replicator column. 

“Computer, expand parameters to include my entire living room, please. And replay events from my home computer’s memory core.”

The replicator did not record much auxiliary input, apart from voice samples and facial scans of the individuals using it. But what it could not supply, the home computer could. It stored each activation of communicator badges inside its walls, the times at which people entered and exited. With all of this combined, the holosuite could recreate the approximate scenario exactly as it had unfolded, several years ago. 

“Try it again, Julian,” Miles was saying. 

The computer did not bother recreating Julian’s image, but he heard a recording of his voice, as he must have addressed the replicator in the past. 

“One empty syringe, please. Three millimeters,” Julian’s voice said. 

The replication bay seemed to follow the instructions correctly, and Julian went forward to retrieve his order.

“Thanks, Chief,” Julian replied, in real time. “That seems to have done the trick.”

“You need to use the reclamator function more often, that’s all,” Miles scolded. “How’s it supposed to make you anything if you don’t keep its banks full? Dishes all over the place, typical bachelor--”

Miles began to crawl backward out of the open cabinet, but hit his head on the door as he stood up. 

“Oh, I remember this,” Julian said, turning to Ezri. “I don’t think this is our stop.”

She nodded and addressed the computer on Julian’s behalf - he had busied himself with examining the bruise on Miles’s forehead - and asked it to show them the _ next _most recent reconfiguration of the replicator. 

The program began changing around them, just as she asked. The general layout of Julian’s cabin remained the same, but she felt the temperature drop, and noticed many of Julian’s possessions - which were usually placed in his own particular way around the room - were absent. His tricorder and his medkit were most obviously missing, but then she noticed Kukulaka was gone from his display shelf, the surgical scrubs Julian kept in the front closet were not there, and the door was left open. 

Then, most troubling of all, she noticed the individuals performing the modifications on Julian’s replicator. 

“He’s scheduled to be on Vulcan until next week,” a holographic copy of Jadzia was explaining to her co-conspirator, Rom. “But I don’t want to be working on _ this _the whole time.”

Ezri swallowed around nothing. Her breathing was shaky and her throat was dry, and she took one step backward, grabbing Julian’s forearm for support. 

“Julian, I don’t think I’m supposed to be--”

“She’s a hologram,” he reminded her. “It’s not as if, er… Jadzia would _ actually_…”

He felt more comfortable leaving the thought unfinished, too afraid of sounding eternally enraptured with Jadzia, as if Ezri was mere consolation to him. It was not true, but the more the thought occurred to him, he more convincing an argument it made. But no, it had not occurred since he saw Ezri for a single session of general counseling, and then three dates after that.

“I know,” Ezri said. “I don’t want to feel like I’m intruding. Computer, pause program--”

Julian allowed her to stop the projection, and he found where her hand had fallen shakily over his arm. With a gentle squeeze, he conveyed for her to keep it there, and he assured her all would be well.

“We’ll go and sit over there,” Julian said. “You don’t even need to introduce yourself.”

More slowly than usual, Ezri nodded.

“That’s a good idea. I’m… I’m kinda dizzy again.”

When they were seated on Julian’s couch, he began the program again. 

“See,” he whispered to Ezri, making a vague gesture at all of the missing items Ezri had already taken stock of, “I wasn’t on the station during this. This could be it! Maybe Jadzia mistakenly tried to--”

“What do you want the code word to be, Commander?” Rom said, voice muffled as he spoke directly into the replicator cabinet.

“...or she did it on purpose,” Julian concluded.

Jadzia took two long, confident strides forward, looking like a predator who at last had cornered her prey. With the same impossible grace, she crouched at Rom’s side, and spoke in a sultry voice. 

“Raktajino,” she said, “double-strong.”

Rom was quiet, apart from his nervous breathing when he began to type the code in question. Jadzia watched him, then offered her hand when he was finished, helping him up. 

“D-does he order that often?” Rom asked, looking longingly down at the cabinet. 

“No, but I do.”

“That’s right, and you come to his quarters often,” Rom surmised. “No, I didn’t mean like that, I--”

“I do,” Jadzia replied without hesitation. “He’s one of my best friends. But he could stand to loosen up a little.”

“I don’t think I follow.”

Jadzia sighed in an amused way, knelt back down, and took a hyperspanner from the scattered contents of Rom’s tool kit. She pressed the cabinet door back into place, then sealed the lock on it herself with the spanner.

“I come over one night for chess or something, yawn, say I’m thirsty, and then see how fast he orders a double-strong raktajino from the replicator...”

“And then?” Rom prompted, unable to supply the rest on his own. 

“And _ then_,” Jadzia said smoothly, “he gets anything _ but _raktajino, and spends the whole rest of the night thinking he’s part of some foreign spy conspiracy.”

“But Doctor Bashir _ has _been approached by agencies… like that…” Rom mumbled.

“I’m just trying to show him that he’s… I don’t know how to phrase it… that he’s not _ everything _ he thinks he is. That it’s okay not to try so hard all the time, or to get so wrapped up in his own work. I _ know _he isn’t a selfish man, but I think he forgets that sometimes.”

“Oh,” Rom said, “this is a practical joke.”

Jadzia held up one finger and nodded, delighted to have made herself clear.

“That’s exactly what it is.”

On the couch, Julian turned to look at Ezri, with his face undecided on any single emotional expression. He was confused, betrayed, endeared… his questions had been answered, and yet not in the way he expected, the way he planned and built up for himself, in the precise display of self-importance Jadzia had set out to unravel in the first place. 

“Gotcha…?” Ezri said weakly. 

Julian turned back to the main projection. 

“No, Julian,” Ezri added, trying to win him back. “I honestly didn’t know. I had no idea, I promise.”

“You _ did _ use the code word, when you placed the order.”

“I did, but I didn’t know _ why_.” She turned to him, now, and spoke in a gentle, professional tone, “Did you ever have Jadzia over again, after this?”

He put together the details, and without even asking the computer to confirm the stardate, he arrived at the answer. 

“No,” he said solemnly. “The Vulcan Neurological Institute conference I attended was, oh, maybe a month before the wedding.”

“So she didn’t get a chance to see her joke play out. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t. I’m not blaming you for anything. At least we don’t need to do any time-hopping, now, to find out.”

“That’s true. I mean… I thought I heard you say it, but what probably - _ actually _ \- happened, is I heard _ Dax _say it, and I’m still not totally used to listening to anyone inside my head like that. It was an accident, but it was my fault.”

“I guess I _ could _stand to loosen up,” Julian said, careful to use Jadzia’s phrasing exactly. 

Ezri smiled.

“Yeah, maybe a little,” she giggled, but then stopped abruptly. “Maybe a little…”

She followed Julian’s gaze back to the replicator, where the images of Rom and Jadzia were collecting the mess of tools and tossing them one by one back into Rom’s decidedly against-regulation toolbox. With this inspiration, she stood and approached them, extending her hand first to help Jadzia grab a slippery coil of tubing, and then to introduce herself as they placed it into the box, together. 

“Hi, I’m Ezri,” she said. 

“Are you here to turn us in?” Jadzia said jokingly, before giving her own name and returning the handshake.

Ezri did not have time to count all of the possibilities. There were so many things she wanted to say to Jadzia, to _ hear from Jadzia_, and since she was only a hologram, it became safe for them to interact. Even if this Jadzia had no ability to remember the conversation, or to learn or grow from it, Ezri had enough experience to know a one-sided session was beneficial once in a while. Especially considering her current audience. 

“No, I’m not going to turn you in,” she assured.

Then she turned to glance over her shoulder, signaling for Julian to join her. He limited his confusion to a brief expression, cast down at the floor, before taking on the new role with his usual excitement. 

“We’re from temporal investigations. Well, I am. I’m Lieutenant Ezri Tigan. This is my husband--”

“--Julian,” Jadzia of course recognized him, and shook her head at the whole situation: how absurd, and yet how perfectly natural it seemed for Julian to proceed on a path like this. 

“Hello, Jadzia,” Julian said quietly. 

“We were wondering what was wrong with the replicator,” Ezri went on. “I think we’ve seen just about everything we needed to. Thank you.”

“Oh, I’m happy to help,” Jadzia replied. “Does that mean Julian launched an official investigation?”

“He will in several years, yes,” Ezri said. 

“Well that’s a better reaction than I could’ve _ dreamed _ of,” Jadzia laughed. “You couldn’t learn to relax until you brought in Temporal Investigations, Julian? That’s _ classic_.”

“Sorry, but we’re, um…” Julian began, leaning over and trying to casually touch Jadzia’s shoulder, “we’re going to have to wipe your memory, since you’ve seen us.”

Jadzia shrugged, and thanked him in a partially sarcastic tone for being such a good friend. 

“How thoughtful,” she concluded. “And you married a Trill, hmm? I like you, Ezri. I can see why Julian would, too."

“But he does need to lighten up, doesn’t he?” Ezri teased, and held Jadzia’s shoulder more firmly, more naturally. 

Somehow, despite Jadzia being a projection, she felt _ real _to Ezri. She knew to look inside herself, if she needed to feel Jadzia’s presence in the future. Taking satisfaction in this, however strange it might have looked to an observer, she turned to Julian, and kissed him on the cheek before asking the computer to end the program. 

They walked out of the suite hand in hand, struggling to voice their thoughts, but not troubled by the silence. It was a friendly one, one of mutual understanding despite their own private confusions. This was a place to grow from. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy this and/or my other Trill-centric works, I am doing printed book versions of some of the longer Trill Revival pieces. Please contact me if you might be interested in ordering a copy :) There are lots of new bonus scenes and short stories exclusive to printed copies!  
Long live the worm!


End file.
